


A Fox before the Hounds

by fabricdragon



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Christmas Gift Exchange, Developing Relationship, Foxes, M/M, Magical Realism, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Slash, unanswered questions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 17:12:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17228024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: James Bond has been cleaning up after SPECTRE, after Madeline, after swearing to keep his heart guarded from now on... and having truly peculiar nightmares about being a Fox, being hunted, being lost and  confused...Q is trying to find out who drugged James Bond, and how, and more importantly how to cure him... before its too late.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RussianWitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/gifts).



The fox was panting and breathless, hiding from the dogs.  He… he knew he should be able to do something, but he couldn’t think of much except running and hiding. He stared out from under the brush looking for a clear path out…

Bond woke up gasping and scrambling for his gun– _gun, that was it, a gun… why didn’t I shoot the dogs…? Wait…_ the dream world slowly faded away and Bond staggered into the bathroom to wash his face.  One of the innumerable lizards ran across the wall and he checked the bathroom carefully for anything more dangerous before he splashed his face with water.

The mission was a bit of ‘fox before the hounds’ he supposed.  He stood out and the enemy outnumbered him, and they were rather coming after him in packs…

_Well this fox fought back._

He had two more nightmares before he managed to wrap up the mission.  He must have thrown himself around quite badly during one because his hip hurt like hell when he woke up–the dream of a bullet clipping his hip as a fox must have reflected that.

Bond wanted nothing more than to get back to his flat and take a well-earned rest, but first he had to deal with debriefing… and inform the Quartermaster that he had once again not brought all of his equipment back.

Really it wasn’t his fault.

…

“Of course it’s your fault, Bond,” Q leveled a withering glare at him, “Even Five manages to bring back most of his equipment.”

“Five tends to get sent on technical missions, not missions that involve your custom work having to be used to keep a death trap from–”

Q just gave him that arch look–it was damnably attractive, not that Bond would ever admit it. “How about if I give you a crowbar and a hammer, will that keep you from using my tech in profoundly inappropriate ways?”

“If you can figure out how to miniaturize them so I can carry them and still have them work? Possibly… although I wouldn’t have to block a death trap if I had enough explosives to use.” Bond couldn’t help but smile at the long running joke between them.

“No, I am not making you an exploding pen, Bond.” Q’s voice was fondly exasperated. “Go on and get the rest of your debrief done and get some sleep–you look tired.”

Bond finished the debrief, finally, and the apparently ever growing amount of paperwork–and set up a date for tomorrow night with one of the new Q branch minions– and went home: it was nearly midnight London time. He let himself in to his flat and was pouring himself a drink when he suddenly felt horribly dizzy…

A distant clatter as the glass hit the floor…

Darkness…

…

The Fox woke up in its den in the park, feeling a bit off.  Still, early morning hunting and scavenging before the two-foots were up was always good…

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You need to wake up and give me a report, Bond. I might even forgive you for not returning your equipment.” As long as you return you…

Q was working on a particularly tricky bit of engineering when the background noise of the branch changed– he looked up. One of the technicians was at a station that she certainly had no business being near, and two of the other techs were… huddled around her?  Q walked over.

“–see? He’s still at home, he’s probably just exhausted.” Vernon was saying while patting her on the shoulder.

She was sniffling, “He stood me up–he probably just ditched his tracers.”

“Who stood you up, what tracers, and why does that authorize you to use this station?” Q was torn between being furious and being concerned.

They all jumped and finally the tech–Daphne– sighed, “I know you warned us about the double Ohs, but…”

Q pinched the bridge of his nose, “You had a date with Bond, didn’t you…”

“Yes, and… he was supposed to have picked me up last night…”

“He PROBABLY slept through the day or forgot–he left the office rather late the day before.” Q sighed and gestured for her to get up–she did– and slid into the seat, “So his tracers are in his flat…”

“She thinks he dumped them.”

“Well he does that a lot…” Q nodded and brought up the tracer that was embedded in the man–he hadn’t gotten rid of that one yet. “He’s in the flat.”  He then shrugged and checked Bond’s timeline… “That… can’t be right…”

Q forgot about them entirely and hacked the CCTV systems… then started compiling data… he slid into the electric meter and frowned.

“Sir?”

“Get me M on the line.” Q began to be quite worried.

…

Q followed the stretcher into medical.

“Any idea what happened?”  He asked the agents who brought Bond in.

“No, Sir, but… its good you called it in–he was apparently lying there from shortly after he got home.”

After that it was a whirlwind of tests–no sign of injury, other than a slight bruise from falling; no evidence of poison, but tests were still being run– and Q having to rescind  days off. No MI6 agent in London had time off with James Bond mysteriously unconscious.

MI6 had too many enemies. James Bond had some personal enemies, as well: some of whom might be called ‘jilted lovers’ except most of them were also spies and assassins.  Q set the branch to evaluate all the electronics–and his car– as well as going over all communications looking for when any possible drug could have been administered.

Because there was NOTHING wrong with the man that wasn’t the result of lying on his floor for over a day…

Except he wouldn’t wake up.

…

The neurologist who had been flown in to consult was sitting down at the conference table with everyone else looking extremely frustrated.

“No, this is absolutely NOT natural causes,” he said for possibly the fifth time.

“But if he’s in a coma–”

“He isn’t, or rather… it’s not a coma in the traditional sense.” The neurologist brought up brainwave function scans and charts. “His brain is, in fact, highly active–active enough to indicate nightmares, or dreams, and sometimes a brain pattern that looks like he’s awake… but he doesn’t respond to physical stimuli normally–he barely reacts at all.  This is not normal.”

M looked over at the medical and chemical team, “Any news?”

“Yes… and no.” Dr. Savan–their expert on chemical warfare, and drugs– sighed, “His blood work up shows nothing that could possibly do this.”

“But there is news?”

“His blood does show traces of things that I consider…” he frowned, “unlikely.”

“What do you mean ‘unlikely’,” Q knew the man to be highly precise in his choice of words usually.

“He has a number of tests showing that he ingested some rather unusual herbs, some of which are in common use as tonics or over the counter medicines, and some which are unusual even for that.” He looked down at his computer pad, “They were present in stronger concentration when he got the blood tests pulled for his debrief…so they were things he was given before he returned to England.” He looked up, “I am in fact trying to find out if any of his prior blood tests were put in storage, so we can test that for comparison, but… I am quite familiar with Commander Bond’s opinions on most herbal remedies, and he would not take them unless it was needed for a cover–which it was not according to his own report.”

“He likes his drink,” one of the psych department said thoughtfully, “Could they be ingredients in an unusual cocktail?”

“It is possible, but… the amounts in his system? That would be several drinks or doses over time.”  He shook his head, “And unless he was allergic to them, NONE of them are in high enough concentrations to do more than annoy him.”

“Well, get us the list–and the list of side effects–” Mallory nodded, “Just in case.”

When Q got his copy of the list he tasked a minion to cross referencing it against their database–perhaps some of it would be a signature of some other agent. After the meeting he went down to the hospital room.  Bond looked smaller and frailer unconscious.  He supposed anyone did, really, but… it was a hard lesson in how much of the man’s presence was in his eyes, and his movement, and his expressions…

_Faint smirking smiles, his eyes crinkling when he laughed, the way he handled a car, and his eyes flicked sideways to watch you and he smiled when he didn’t think anyone saw him…_

Q sighed and shook his head– a completely stupidly useless crush, which Bond was hopefully unaware of.

“You need to wake up and give me a report, Bond,” Q patted the man’s hand. “I might even forgive you for not returning your equipment.” _As long as you return you…_

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did I know this? I don’t remember, but I know this…

The Fox was watching the two feet– _humans_ – and their four feet companions– _dogs_.  Dogs were stupid so he didn’t worry about them too much, and most of them were fat. He waited until none of the humans were looking and strolled out and took some food.  Most of the dogs just looked perplexed but one started barking madly and yanking their human around.

By the time the human looked he was nothing but a rustle of bushes. The fox trotted off purposefully with his stolen prize: there was a really attractive vixen on the other end of the park, and she would love this.

…

The fox felt like rooftops were familiar… and cars were familiar–except they seemed to have gotten bigger and faster– but it was confusing.

When most of the people were gone, and it was night, he stopped hiding from the glass eyes…

_Camera… that’s right… he was always hiding from cameras…_

He had a pain in his head and rubbed a paw over his face.

There was something wrong, but he couldn’t remember what it was.  So he did was he was pretty sure he usually did and went exploring and poking into things. He traveled out a bit beyond the edges of the park–watching the few humans out after dark, watching the traffic.  A young man ducked into the alley and did something–threw something away– so he went and nosed around… there was a… _wallet? Yes, wallet_.  It looked like a dead thing all open and empty.  There was nothing to eat worth eating there so he doubled back and went looking around more.

He found plenty of food–humans threw away a lot.

He found himself wandering more and more urban areas… humans returning home, humans out to mate or seek mates…

Why wasn’t he back with the vixen?  Why was this so interesting?

…

Time passed: he slept, and woke, and watched people–he could almost understand them sometimes.  So many of the buildings looked familiar, it was awful–his head kept hurting but he wasn’t injured.

Eventually he found himself at a building that… he had to go inside. He had to… but… people would notice…

He settled down in a hidden spot with a stolen lunch and waited.

~

_He was trapped, and he couldn’t get out, and someone was touching him…_

_“You need to wake up and give me a report, Bond,”_

_But he didn’t know what a report was, or a Bond_ and he woke up gasping and panting on his side.

Nightmare… that was a nightmare… like… like being shot or hunted by hounds… but that never happened? Right?

He rolled to his feet and shook himself.  For a moment he couldn’t get his feet under him properly, but then he started circling the building, looking for a way in.

He found it in a small door with one of the guards smoking outside of it–he slipped in quietly behind him and vanished into the building.  He hid quietly under a bench–like the ones in the park– until it was very quiet… then he crept out and began to look around.

There were images of two foots on the wall, and some images of other four foots… and some images of other things–they seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite place them.

He spent  almost all night wandering the building, staring at images on the wall–he got up on a table and sniffed one in the hopes it would help him remember, but it didn’t.  The image of the human– _woman? Queen?_ – with hair the color of his fur was fascinating, but there was always more, just beyond his reach, just not quite there…

He slipped out quietly in the early hours of the morning, when the shift changed…

_How did I know this? I don’t remember, but I know this…_

He set off at a long lope and headed into a different part of the city– _London_ – than he had ever been in before…

_But it was so familiar…_

~

Q would have liked to stay in the medical wing with Bond, but he could do far more good in Q branch looking for answers.

The problem was that the answers that they came up with were… less than helpful. _Magic? Really?_   Apparently the herbs and so on that he appeared to have been dosed with were simply not toxic enough to DO any of this, but the main hits on computer searches about them came up with  their uses in rituals and magic.  He handed the search on the herbs off to a minion and started going after covert communications.

Very late that day: “Sir?  I may have something for you…”

Q looked up and rubbed his eyes, “Yes?”

“While I was hunting down that magical and ritual information?”  The minion shuffled his feet and looked a bit hesitant.

Q sighed, _stuff and nonsense._ “Out with it then.” Q dredged the information about this minion– _Rodney? Rodney­–_ up: new here, didn’t socialize much,  had a bit of a reputation as a ‘know-it-all’ common to  people who were used to being the smartest person in their group–he was probably running into a hard adjustment here, where he wasn’t.

“Well, it turns out that there was a group inside SPECTRE that really believed in magic as a weapon? I mean as far as I can tell… Kind of like the Nazi Society of Thule.” Rodney started pontificating at Q.

“The Society of Thule was suppressed when the Nazi party rose to power,” Q raised an eyebrow, “All fancies and movies to the contrary.  Several members of the Nazi party were affiliated with them before the Nazi party rose to power…and the Society laid claims to having paved the way for Hitler, but–”

“Oh Uh, ok, sorry…”

“You think there was an occultist group actively in SPECTRE?”

He rather hesitantly handed over his pad, “The intercept looks like it–and fine, so I wasn’t well informed about Nazi stuff, but… these guys seemed serious.”

“Stick with the information you have, and preface surmises as surmises or theories and you will get along better.” Q said idly as he went over the data.

“Yes, sir,” Rodney mumbled.

After quietly speeding over the data Q looked up, “You appear to be correct in this: there was a small subset of people in SPECTRE who  took occultism VERY seriously, and at least a couple of them seemed involved with the subset of SPECTRE that was involved in drug manufacture… which means this is a very serious lead.”

“It…is?” he visibly perked up.

“Yes. If they believed this, they may have used ‘magical herbs’ in conjunction with the real drugs that we haven’t been able to trace.” Q nodded at him, “Good job: keep chasing down any conversations and start a trace on any of these individuals, or anyone they deal with.” Q headed out to talk to M.

…

After a very long conference with Mallory, Tanner, and several other people, it was officially a mission. Agents would be dispatched to hunt down these specific agents of SPECTRE–with a focus on any who might have interacted with Bond. Every agent going out was especially equipped with chemical sniffers, and warned not to eat or drink anything that could have been tampered with–not that most agents would: Bond was notorious for risk taking.

It was well into the next day before Q was forced to stop work, and head home.  As he left he saw a few of the minions gathered around a computer, making cooing noises.

“New baby?”

“Fox.”

 _I hadn’t thought she was gay… had that become a gender neutral phrase now?_ “Looking at CCTV cameras of private–”

“No, sir,” Linda rolled her eyes, “A fox: bushy tail? Red fur?”

“Oh… uh…” he rubbed his eyes, “Sorry, I’m very tired… what about a fox?” 

“A fox snuck into the National Portrait Gallery the other night, and the cameras caught it… its adorable!”

Q smiled, “Send me the link… I could use the break.”

He watched it on the way home… it really was adorable.  The way it sat and tilted its head at some of the portraits almost looked like it was really contemplating them.  It apparently either was well hidden, or had slipped out early in the morning, because they couldn’t spot it now…

Q fed his cats and fell over.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think I’ve completely lost my mind, really.

The fox sat and stared at the building entrance.  It looked normal, but… double door locks, full cameras, biometric and passcard protected scanners.  _I need to get in there.  Why do I need to get in there?_   After a very long time the fox sighed and turned away. He wandered aimlessly for a while, trying to figure things out…

He ran into a terrifying monster– _raccoon_ – and only defeated it by outsmarting it. As he panted against the wall and looked at the dead raccoon in the street he had a flashing image of doing something like this before? With a human?  _Why would he have gotten a human run over by a car?_

_How would he have gotten a human run over with a car?_

He was tired, and didn’t care anymore… he climbed up onto a bus when it stopped and hid under a seat.  No one saw him when he got on, but several people yelled when he got off–didn’t matter he’d be long gone before they could catch him.  It took him a very long time to get where he wanted to go, but there were always trash cans, and food carts, and…

Several very NICE two feet tossed him bits of their food. He almost went home with one, but he had someplace to be.

~

Bond was still in the coma–or whatever it was.

Q was sitting  next to his bed, holding his hand and talking quietly–he couldn’t remember when he’d picked up that habit, but he had.

“You need to come back, you know. I’ve said that a million times, but you really do.” Q sighed, “I miss you, you know?  I always expected you to come back from whatever with your usual lack of equipment and your snarky excuses.” Q smiled and squeezed his hand, “well its almost time for the therapists to put your body through the paces… I expect if you were present you’d flirt outrageously and be nothing but trouble–you lot always hate medical.”

Bond’s hand flexed just slightly in his. Q’s eyes widened, “Can… can you hear me at all?” he looked at the brain wave monitors which were as active as they had been–the neurologists said they were  consistent with  activity, motion , and so on…

It looked like some of the lines had changed while he was here…

Q called the doctors and there was a whirlwind of activity.  He demanded, and got, the monitor records and took them back to the computers in Q branch to try to discern a pattern.

Because there were changes…

There had been a period with the kind of brainwaves you would expect from a life or death situation–and Bond’s body had barely responded, with increased breathing and blood markers for stress, but the brainwaves showed so much more… the neurologist said he was in a delusion or dream state…

And didn’t that sound like far too many movies or games, where the person was in a virtual world…

_Maybe Bond WAS in a virtual world? The drug could have caused hallucinations…_

“Where do you think he’s going?”

Q looked up in puzzlement, “going?” and then realized it was a group of minions watching monitors, not talking to him.  he raised his voice, “Who are you tracking?”

“Mister Fox about London!” one of them answered.

“The one in the museum?”

“That was old news,” one of them looked over and smiled, “we’ve been compiling the public videos and news and the CCTV cameras… he’s traveled all over London!  He was just across the street from our building recently, and then he actually started getting on buses!”

“what?” Q looked back at the charts he’d been working on and decided a break was in order, “alright, let me see…”

They had his travel plotted, and highlights… there were videos of him begging from  people and getting food…

“Isn’t he a FLIRT? I swear we should recruit him…” Melanie laughed as she pointed at the fox cocking his head and all but wrapping a young lady around his paw.

Q couldn’t help but smile, “we should name him James, then… what’s this about him being near our building?”

Bob brought up the surveillance camera history, “there.”

Q felt uneasy watching… the fox sat in a concealed area–from humans if not cameras– and seemed to be studying the entrance… then he looked… sad? And turned and went away.

“That’s very odd… he certainly seems to want to go into buildings…”

“poor guy almost died last night.” Someone brought up a CCTV night video, of a fox streaking across a crowded street JUST in front of trucks–he made it across, the raccoon chasing him wasn’t so lucky.

Q looked at the time date stamp of the fox panting against the wall, and looked back at his computers… “I need every bit of data on that fox, whereabouts and everything…”  he walked back to his computers in a daze.

“what?”

“Just DO it…”

He started lining up times and dates for notable variances in Bond’s vitals with the Fox’s travels and… there was too much data missing but… “Correlation is not causation…” Q muttered and dragged a hand through his hair.

“Plot the Fox’s bus and walking route, where could he be going if this was a human?”

“Uh… anywhere?” someone said.

Rodney hesitantly spoke up, “If he actually has a tropism for museums…he could be heading back to the National Portrait Gallery…”

Q spun in his chair and started bringing up the locations of the Fox, and people’s postings on social media. “Quite right, he appears to be heading back…” _No, not back to THAT museum…_

“Well… don’t most animals have a route? Or a range?”  Someone was talking but Q was already moving.

~

The fox found a door open at the building… it wasn’t far from the first big building, but it was different… this was more important… he trotted silently through the rooms, looking for something he couldn’t quite name.

He froze when he saw the human sitting quietly in one of the rooms.

“It was a completely unreasonable idea to think you would be coming here…” the human said.

 _He was familiar? This was familiar?_   The fox walked slowly around the edge of the room as the human turned to look at him.

“I’ve probably just been awake for far too long, but… James?”

 _That sounded… familiar?_   The fox edged up closer.  The human smelled of tea, and cars, and electronics… and that was right.  He made a querulous noise.

“We met here… and I think I’ve completely lost my mind, really.” He rubbed at his face.

 _Yes? Yes we did? Did I know this human?_   He hopped up on the bench and sat down next to the strangely familiar man.  He looked at the painting on the wall and it made him unhappy–he growled at it.

“I was… rather full of myself the first time we met.” The human said and slowly reached out a hand, “of course to let you in on a secret I was rather nervous too–Bond had a reputation.”

The fox forced himself to hold still as the human touched him.  He’d never let the others touch him, but… this human seemed to be carefully stroking and searching in his fur? He tried to ask what he wanted.

“I don’t speak fox, but you sound confused?”  Q–this human was called Q– said sounding very tired, “You don’t have any electronics on you–I’m afraid I had let myself believe they had somehow forced your mind into a fox, but...”

The fox hesitantly leaned into the hand, and then slowly pawed at the coat lying across his legs.

“What do you want then? And you came right here… and you were almost at the entrance of the…” Q stopped, “In for a penny, in for a pound… would you like to go see James? James Bond–Double Oh Seven?”

_YES! What’s a Bond? Why do I need to go see these things, but yes, yes, yes I have to!_

~

Q almost fell over when the fox started making delighted yodeling noises and all but dancing.  Q felt like he’d fallen into a storybook when the fox let him pick it up.  It was obviously unhappy at being carried, but it stayed in his arms.

“You were at the National Portrait Gallery just around the corner to begin with…” Q found himself saying to the fox as he made his way out. “And then went all over to get to the current headquarters while Vauxhall is being rebuilt, and then here…” he ignored the stunned looks on the guards’ faces as he walked out carrying a fox.

“Is that ‘Fox About London’, then?” the guard on the exit asked him.

“It seems so…” Q answered as he started across to the car.

The fox hopped out of his arms when they got to the car and jumped up on the hood, looking in the windshield. Q opened the driver’s side door, “Coming?”

The fox got into the driver’s seat and put its paws on the wheel and started to make the most confused sounding yips.

“Figures you’d want to drive, but you can’t reach, can you… scoot over.”  The fox reluctantly climbed into the passenger seat and let Q settle behind the wheel–it sounded like it was grumbling, though.

_I have utterly lost my mind, really._

…

The fox didn’t run around in the car, or get under foot–it just stared out the windshield intently.  When they got to the underground entrance and Q carried him in… the fox reached a paw out to the palm print scanner, and then pulled his paw back and made a confused noise.

“I don’t think your… fox? Is in the database, sir.” The guard said in an excellent deadpan, “You’ll have to add him to the security once you sign him in.”

 _He’d tried to use the palm print scanner…_ Q made a polite if distracted reply, and walked through to the medical wing.  He shouldn’t have been surprised to find half the minions, M, and Tanner waiting.

Mallory cleared his throat, “Do I dare ask?”

“Don’t, I don’t believe it myself.” Q started to say more, but the fox suddenly jumped out of his arms and raced across the medical floor to Bond’s bed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end and... a begining

The fox looked up from Q’s arms and saw… _The human! From the strange images of guns and cars and things…_ he pushed out of the human’s arms and ran across the strange floor that smelled of so many wrong things, and up onto the human… he sniffed that human and…

_Dizzy, confusion, medical, Q, London…_

Bond gasped and opened his eyes and tried to get up.  _Things holding him down, medical, was I captured?_ He was fighting and disoriented when he heard a very familiar voice.

“Bond, you are in MI6 headquarters; you are safe; stand down.”

Bond slowly tried to calm himself; he could damn near feel the adrenaline… Q’s voice was calm but tired, and he finally recognized one of the orderlies from medical…

“I’m… alright… but back off.” Bond managed to get out, and luckily the medical staff did.  Too many years of dealing with injured agents had trained them that well.

Someone adjusted the bed he was in to sit up… he stared in confusion at a crowd of Q branchers, Mallory, Tanner, and… Q? holding a limply unconscious fox carefully in his arms.

“I… had the most peculiar nightmares… and… I’m guessing they weren’t JUST nightmares since I feel like this and I’m in medical…”

Some doctor or another was taking wires off his scalp, and Doctor Savan– _oh that was bad, that was the chemical warfare expert_ – was walking up with tubes and inspecting the far too many IV lines.

“Did… any of your nightmares involve being turned into a fox, by chance?” Q’s voice was as dry and precise as ever, but he looked exhausted and unwell.

“… not that I would normally admit in front of medical, but… yes? I was having a few of them on the last mission, but… briefer… not as detailed… uhh… why do you have a fox?”

Q smiled tiredly, “he was traveling all over London… first the Portrait Gallery, then just across the street, and then back to–”

“The place we first met… and… you…” Bond stared at the fox, “brought me here in your car…”

“He tried to use the palm print scanner.” Q walked over shakily and collapsed in a chair next to Bond’s bed.

Mallory rubbed a hand across his eyes and straightened himself up, “Commander Bond is recovering; anyone not involved in trying to find out who did this–or what happened– should clear the area.”

Bond heard Tanner mutter something about “Scotch” and Mallory answer, “My office” as they went out, leaving him to the mercy of the medical staff.

Q stayed, thankfully.

 

…~… A week later…~…

 

“We’re doing what?” Q asked as Bond insisted that he needed help with a critical errand.

“Just… Bring James?”  Bond asked, because Q had ended up getting the fox his shots and keeping him temporarily–fitted with one of the best trackers Q branch could create.

“He isn’t as good in cars as he was when…”

“When it was me.” Bond finished. “No, I don’t expect so.”

…

Q picked Bond up–he wasn’t cleared to drive yet, and Q suspected he wasn’t cleared to leave medical.

Bond got into the car and looked at the kennel in the back seat with a worried looking fox: “I owe you… rather a lot I expect.”

Q wasn’t sure whether he was talking to Q or the fox–but he suspected the fox. “Care to explain any of it?” Q asked as he set off to the first stop–a butcher’s shop for some reason. “Like how you ended up as a fox?”

“I wish I could, but I can’t.” Bond shook his head, “I only know what you already heard me report–and you know the psych boys are trying to have me declared unfit for duty–delusions of being a fox.” Bond said rather dryly.

“I also know you could tell us where the fox was in some cases that we could only confirm after the fact,” Q said quietly, “And I really doubt that the rest was just people talking in front of you and affecting your dream state–besides, why else would the fox go THERE, much less let me pick him up and bring him back.” Q glanced in the rear view at the fox, “he isn’t tame–at least he wasn’t when he finally woke up again.”

Bond had him stay in the car while he bought a fair amount of meat, and then gave him the address for a park.

“… Taking him home?”

“Yes, and… checking on something.”

They drove to the park: Q considering his feelings again and wondering what would happen if Bond was removed from duty–he didn’t retire well.

Bond and Q unloaded the meat and the kennel and walked off to a rather shrubby part of the park–the fox had been quiet since they got out of the car.

“Here you are,” Bond quietly put down the meat and opened the kennel. “I doubt you’ll be able to ditch the tracker without my help, but…You have someone waiting for you I think.”

Q was about to ask what he meant when the fox picked up one of the bits of meat hesitantly and carried it off into the brush. Bond stood up and brushed off his hands, “There’s a vixen lives there… and…unlike me I think James is a family man.”

“…oh.” Q watched for a bit as the fox slunk back out and carried the meat, one bit at a time, into the shrubs.

“No interest in settling down for you?”

“Well, she was a nice vixen, but red-heads are never anything but trouble.”

Q turned with a retort and stopped at the sight of those blue eyes crinkled and that faint smirk. “I was afraid I’d never see that again,” tumbled out of his mouth and he winced.

“See what?” Bond blinked and tilted his head in a remarkably foxlike fashion.

“You looking amused: the way your eyes crinkle up and that damn crooked smile.” Q sighed,

“…Well I was rather glad to see you,” Bond said getting back into the car, “Although your color sense is still a bit odd, and you smell of tea and electronics.”

“Yes, well, what should I smell of?” Q pulled out smoothly to drive–he assumed back to base.

“My scotch and…” Bond shut his mouth firmly.

Q pulled the car off to the side, “You know I’ve had a crush on you since we met, Bond: it’s not fair to tease me right now.”

There was silence and finally Q looked over to find a very odd look on Bond’s face.

“I had no idea, actually…” Bond finally said. “I suppose I was too used to… disregarding any interest from men, unless it was work…”

“I haven’t let it affect my work–” Q sighed, “Well not negatively, although I have rather given you special treatment as you know.”

“You’ve done more than anyone could ever ask, Q. So… to finish what I was saying, albeit a bit differently–because I was just flirting and that’s reflex:  I think you should smell like a glass of my good scotch, and possibly dinner–once I am up to cooking.”

“… Are you joking?”

“No; were you?”

“…no… what happened to ‘not a family man’?”

“I’m not the sort to retire to a job bringing home the bacon–or pigeons– to the missus.” Bond smiled faintly, “Do you think that’s the kind of life YOU want?”

“I’m obsessive and getting me out of the workshop can require tea, gloves, and a humane trap,” Q started smiling, “So no, I don’t think I’ll ever be the little woman at home waiting for you to get back from work.”

“I’m going to try to get back into the field.”

“If they won’t let you do that I’m pretty sure that ‘delusions of having been a fox’ wouldn’t rule you out of training people… you’d be good at that.”

“Maybe.  So dinner?”

“When medical ACTUALLY clears you to go home?” Q resumed driving, “I’d be delighted.”

 


End file.
